"I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual. I like, I see, to question people about death. I have taken it into my head that I shan’t live until 70. Suppose, I said to myself the other day this pain over my heart suddenly wrung me out like a dish cloth & left me dead?-I was feeling sleepy, indifferent, & calm; & so thought it didn’t much matter, except for L. Then, some bird or light I daresay, or waking wider, set me off wishing to live on my own-wishing chiefly to walk along the river & look at things."
— Virginia Woolf in her diary, Friday 17 1922 (via vwvw)
tell me how
the absence of you can fill a room
— V.M. from “Please Do Not Die On Me: A Love Letter” (via ahuntersheart)
do you know what it is like
onto a cold window
just to see if there is
left inside you?
— V.M., What I Would Have Asked Jack Gilbert (In response to “The Abandoned Valley”) (via ahuntersheart)